


Time to Prove the Theory: Let's say what we mean

by AgoraphobicTurtle



Category: Lizzie Bennet Diaries
Genre: Dizzie, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-07
Updated: 2013-03-18
Packaged: 2017-12-04 13:26:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/711243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgoraphobicTurtle/pseuds/AgoraphobicTurtle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bing & Jane's engagement party: Lizzie and Darcy try to talk.  </p>
<p>For the CEO of a media company and a grad student in Mass Comm, they aren't very good at communication.  At this point they are too busy being careful to have a useful conversation on their own.  Costume theater gets it done.</p>
<p>Chapter 1: Wherein there is barbecue, angst, nervousness, misunderstanding, and finally progress.  And then Lydia interrupts.  ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Progress-- real or imagined

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this after ep90, but as of ep93 it hasn't been CanonBalled yet. (It will be, though!) ;)
> 
> This fic of the Dizzie EndGame is the result of my over-analyzing all of the emotional baggage, uncertainties and misconceptions that exist between Lizzie and Darcy. Although I (of course) want them to just admit they love each other and make out already, a huge part of me feels that a fast resolution would be a false resolution. These two are already too emotionally involved for things to be simple. 
> 
> Besides-- the premise of Lizzie's thesis is essentially that the camera acts a mediator (in my HeadCanon anyway). And Lizzie and Darcy? they need mediation to figure this out.
> 
> I didn't have anyone to beta this, so be nice! ;) (and volunteer to beta the next chapter).
> 
> FYI-- this: ~~~~~ means that I am changing POV. (From Darcy to Lizzie or vice versa.) I hope that isn't super annoying. I couldn't help it.

It was the perfect June day—a Saturday made for a backyard party, really, and this one looked poised to go down in the books as the greatest backyard party of all their lives… if you could call the grounds of a gated estate a “backyard,” which Lizzie somewhat doubted.  Mrs. Bennet had now spoken the words “Jane’s fiancé, Mr. Bing Lee” so many times that it seemed she may have finally accepted his decision to pursue a non-medical career.  Of course that was easier for Mrs. Bennet to do on a day like today—she was almost apoplectic with her glee over the opportunity to greet her friends at an engagement party that showed off both Bing and the Netherfield estate at the same time. Lizzie drifted away from the crowd near the barbecue, needing to establish enough distance between herself and her mother that she wouldn’t continue to be splattered by her Mrs. Bennet’s overflowing happiness. 

Jane and Bing looked so happy.  Mr. Bennet looked happy as well—Hawaiian shirt and all. The previous evening he had given Bing an HO-scale model train starter set and a handshake and called him “son.” Bing had been unable to find any words.  Mr. Bennet had gruffly apologized for the pipe smoke which he alleged to be the reason that his and Bing’s eyes would not stop watering, and for the rest of the evening Bing had carried the train engine in the hand that wasn’t holding Jane’s.  Everything was perfect, everyone was happy, and Lizzie was decidedly a part of ‘everyone.’

Lizzie might be feeling unsettled.  That was okay.  A person could be a bit unsettled and still be happy.  After all, so much was changing.  _But in a happy way_ , she reminded herself.  Jane and Bing were engaged. Excellent news.  Very happy.  After all the agonizing rewrites, Lizzie had completed and turned in the final draft of her thesis two days earlier.  Her grad school classmates had finished in April, but still.  Lizzie was now on track to receive her degree in July, and considering everything that had happened, that was great news.  Lizzie Bennet, almost done with her degree.  Good news.  Happy news.

Lydia had started volunteering at an animal shelter with Mary and though Lizzie still couldn’t truly wrap her head around the idea that Lydia was voluntarily cleaning litter boxes and kennels, Lydia seemed to be finding new fulfillment and confidence in the opportunity to help.  Lydia was definitely recovering.  Smiling more, laughing more, and on two occasions Lizzie and Mary had successfully dragged her to Carter’s on karaoke night and made fools of themselves, which Lydia had mostly enjoyed.  All of these things were evidence of change, but they were happy things.  _Everything is happy, everyone is happy,_ Lizzie reminded herself again.

Lizzie leaned against the house and scanned the crowd near the pool, then the area surrounding the volleyball net.  No Lydia.  Also no Darcy. (Not that it mattered.) Was Lydia okay? (Had Darcy already left?) Lizzie knew Lydia (and Darcy) would instinctively avoid the area near the barbecue where Mrs. Bennet continued to gush to her friends.  Where else would Lydia (or anyone else) go?  Brow wrinkling, Lizzie turned toward the patio doors and saw him.

~~~~~

He was not certain how many minutes he had been standing in the doorway watching her when she turned toward him.  William Darcy did his best not to flinch when Lizzie met his eyes, but he had started marking time toward this day before Bing had even proposed to Jane Bennet, so it was impossible to deny that he was feeling somewhat keyed up.

Standing away from the door, he addressed her. “Lizzie… I… uh… hello,” he finished lamely.

Lizzie simply stared at him with a tiny attempt at a smile on her surprised face.  He was an idiot.

Darcy looked at his feet while his mind raced for a safe topic.  What could he say to her?  They had barely spoken simple hellos to one another the previous day when Lizzie had dropped by Netherfield to discuss last-minute party details with Jane. 

Before her internship at Pemberley, Darcy would have had to assume that Lizzie did not ever want to have another conversation with him again—or even be in the same room, for that matter.  But before her untimely departure from the Pemberley placement it had almost seemed that she might consider Darcy a friend.  She had definitely not seemed inclined to avoid him.  Of course that was before--

“Darcy.” 

His head snapped up and he focused himself on the present. 

Lizzie moved toward him, still looking a bit surprised and uncomfortable.  “Hi,” she managed, with a weak smile.

She looked up at him uncertainly as he tried to find something to say to her that was at once both safe and not boring.  Easier said than done.  He had nothing.

“I didn’t see you there,” Lizzie continued, now settling against the double-door frame on the side opposite him.  “I take it you, uh, decided to hide out rather than be harassed into the semi-drunk ping pong competition our younger sisters wanted?”

Now it was Darcy’s turn to look surprised.  “Did they suggest that?”

Lizzie’s face flushed and she bit her lip.  Not resuming eye contact, she muttered, “Yeah” in a somewhat strained voice but did not explain any further.

Darcy had known that today would be his chance to talk to Lizzie and try to find the closure he clearly could not move forward without, but now that the chance had arrived his brain and mouth seemed completely disconnected.  Or possibly his emotions simply refused to allow his brain to take steps towards closure. 

_Say something!_ he told himself.  _Something safe and not boring._   The most basic of greetings slid from his grasp as he began to feel increasingly desperate.  She was going to think that he didn’t want to see her—that he didn’t have anything to say—because he was just looking at her, unable to say anything.  Truthfully, he was filled to overflowing by all the things he wanted to say to her, but while he was fairly certain that the ensuing conversation would not be remotely boring, it would also be far from safe.

Was that a flicker of trepidation on her face? _Speak, idiot!_   How long had he been standing here staring at her?

“It’s nice to see you again--” burst forth just as her eyes flicked away and she started,

“It’s nice to see you.”

Her eyes came back to his and they both laughed uncomfortably. 

Huh.  Well.  Jinxed again. 

“Lizzie,” he said gently, taking a step toward her, “I, uh, I wanted to say—“

“No, don’t.  It’s okay.” The words burst out seemingly against her will, but she sounded more resigned than irritated.  “It’s okay, Wil—Darcy.”  Lizzie sounded like the words were choking her, and Darcy didn’t even know what she was trying to say.  She shook her head a little, cleared her throat, and tried again, no longer even trying to meet his eyes.  “Don’t.”

“Lizzie?” he closed the distance, needing to know if the tears in her voice were the only tears, and desperately trying to understand what she was telling him—and if there were anything he could do to make her feel better about it.

His hand reached for her chin of its own volition—he certainly would never have done it intentionally when he was so unsure of where he stood with this woman.  She trembled a bit but allowed him to tilt her head back so that he could look her in the eyes and confirm the sheen of tears.  “Lizzie, what is it you don’t want me to do?  I’ll do my best, but I don’t know what you need from me right now.”

At his last words she jerked her head to the side and looked out toward the lawn again.  He dropped his hand and waited, completely baffled.  After a long moment of silence, she lowered her face to her hands and while rubbing at her temples mumbled, “Nothing.  It’s nothing, I don’t need anything.  Never mind.”

Something in her tone more than in her words pushed Darcy’s buttons.  She didn’t sound like she thought there was nothing he might be able to do for her.  She sounded like she didn’t think he should bother.  Inhaling sharply, he launched into speech without thinking further.  “No.  Whatever it is, it is not nothing.  You said, ‘Don’t.’  Don’t what, Lizzie?”  His voice choked a bit on the last word and in a broken voice he added, “Can’t we even talk?”

Her hands came away from her face and her eyes darted up to meet his.  What was she thinking or feeling? Surprise? Hurt? Confusion?  The only thing he felt certain of was her surprise.  She said nothing, but was studying his face now as though it held its own secrets. 

Uncomfortable, Darcy folded his arms tightly across his chest and looked out on the yard where Bing stood close to Jane, his arm around her shoulders, hers around his waist.  Jane’s head rested on Bing’s shoulder and they were surrounded by happy friends and family.  Guests chatted idly in the background eating, drinking, laughing, and enjoying the party.  Was Darcy’s presence preventing Lizzie from being a part of that?

Steeling himself to turn back to her and apologize, Darcy was completely unprepared for Lizzie’s touch on his arm and reflexively flung it outward.  She jumped back with a squeak, face reddening.

_Idiot._   He was definitely an idiot.  Thankfully, Lizzie’s quick movement had prevented him from actually hitting her, but he had come awfully close.  He looked straight down at his feet, chin tucked, and muttered, “I’m sorry.  Buggy programming.  I apologize.”

Lizzie snorted at his attempted joke, and he looked her in the eye and tried again.  “I am sorry.  I’m a bit… tense… I guess.”

She smiled wryly and replied, “I know the feeling,” then added, “I’m sorry I startled you.”  She inhaled deeply, pursed her lips, and then said, “Yes.  Yes, we can talk.  We should talk.”

At that, Darcy was reminded of the resolution he had been making when her hand had touched his arm.  “Lizzie, I’m sorry.  We don’t have to talk.  I don’t want to force you to stay here and talk to me.”

Lizzie raised her eyebrows in amusement at this and replied, “Force me?  You don’t need to worry about that one, _Darce_.  You could never make me do something I didn’t want to do.”  She smirked at him, and the smile seemed to drain the tension from the air around them.

“No.  Clearly not,” he agreed, meeting her smirk with his own.  She was sassing him.  It was like they were back at Pemberley again.  He held her look for a second too long, and it felt as though something inside had started to burn.

Forcing himself to move away from her, Darcy moved from the doorway into the room, grabbed a chair and flipping it backwards, seated himself, then folded his arms across the top of the chair back and settled his chin on them.  Looking up at Lizzie, he decided to pursue a thread from the past that insistently wove itself into whatever present conversation they might have.

“Lizzie.  I would not want to force you to talk to me and—“ he quirked a half-smile at her as she prepared to reiterate her earlier point, “—I know you would not stand for that anyway.  But…” he trailed to a stop for a moment while searching for a way to ask the important question without being insensitive. 

“Lizzie? When we first knew each other you were kind enough to speak to me on a few occasions when you would have preferred not to.” He waited a beat and then continued, “I mean, there is evidence that you did not wish to speak with me, but you were polite enough to do so anyway.  So…”

“Polite enough?” she said, with disbelief.  “I was _polite enough_? Are you… I don’t… Ugh!” she turned away from him and leaned her forehead against the doorframe. “It isn’t politeness if later you mock the person in front of several thousand people, Darcy.”  She tapped her forehead against the doorframe a few times in frustration and Darcy came to his feet, unsure of how she might react if he tried to stop her.

Lizzie saw his movement, laid the side of her face against the doorframe, looked him in the eye and added, “I was horrible to you.  I was horrible about you.  The whole thing was horrible.”  Darcy carefully resumed his seat, still watching her.  She closed her eyes, turned to face the doorframe again, and in a small, almost wistful voice said, “I’m so sorry for the videos.  I was a fool.  Can’t you forgive me?”

Darcy was at her side before he knew he’d stood back up.  “Lizzie.” He touched her shoulder lightly, but she kept her face averted. “Lizzie, I have.”  She shook her head slightly but gave no other response.  He put his hand more firmly on her shoulder, spreading his fingers, willing her to feel a connection and hear what he was trying to say.

“I don’t hold that against you, Lizzie.  I didn’t mean it to sound that way.” She sighed deeply and maintained her communion with the doorframe.  Darcy dropped his hand and tried another tack.  “I wasn’t… I just… it’s not about the videos.  It’s about you and me.”

At this, Lizzie raised her head and looked at him, questioning.  Darcy moved back to stand next to the chair again and his hands moved quickly from tapping the top of it to clenching it in a stranglehold as he groped for words.  “I hope I have learned some things since then, Lizzie.”  He hazarded a look at her and found that she was still watching him.  “So yes, I do want to talk to you.  But one of the things I have learned is that you have every right to _not_ want to have a conversation with me.  And I will respect that this time.”

They looked at each other for a long charged moment before Darcy looked away.  In a carefully flat voice he spoke again.  “Okay.  Well.  I probably should go do some work, then.”

“No!” Lizzie almost shouted the word, and for an instant Darcy thought it might have turned him to stone.  He looked at her, feeling nearly the same sense of bafflement and hope that he’d experienced near the beginning of this conversation, and waited.

“I _do_ want to have a conversation with you,” she said.  “I definitely do.”  She smiled a little, then returned to self-consciousness and bit her lip.  “I mean… I guess we’re already having one… although for two people who apparently want to talk to each other, we seem to be struggling.”  She darted a glance at him and he nodded his agreement somewhat ruefully.

“When you think about it,” Lizzie continued, warming to the chance to analyze their lacking conversational skills while putting off the actual conversation, “It’s sort of amazing.”  Darcy watched her, not sure what she meant.  A tiny smile bloomed on her lips, then she laughed aloud. 

“Darcy, do you realize how far we have come?  I mean, you’ve seen episode 60—well, actually I hope you haven’t—but you lived it!  After all the yelling and misunderstanding in our first real conversation, here we are today, unable to communicate because we’re so determined not to hurt each other’s feelings.”  She gave him a full-blown grin and as he smiled back he felt hope take root and choke his doubts into silence.

Lizzie had used the word, “we” to describe the two of them, and Darcy was more certain than ever that he wanted that to become the standard.  He tried it, “We have definitely made progress, Lizzie.”

She smirked and rejoined, “Well, progress in some things—not in this conv—“

“Lizzie!”  Lydia was practically upon them before either of them realized she was approaching.  “Lizzie, you nerd! I have only been looking for you forever.  Are you deaf now? Mom has been yelling your name for, like, a year.  She wants to take a big family pic with Bing out by the fountain.  Also? The party is _outside_ , you loser.  I don’t know why—“

Lydia practically skidded to a halt as she caught sight of Darcy, seated a few feet inside the door.  Turning her focus back to Lizzie, a speculative smile bloomed on Lydia’s face, but she restrained herself from saying more than an expressive, “Oh.  Sorry.”

Flicking a saucy glance of “Oh, really?” at Darcy, Lydia resumed, “Seriously, sis.  Move your butt—it is fountain family picture time!” As Lydia grabbed one of Lizzie’s hands she added in with a shudder, “No way is this situation going to benefit from Mom finding you here herself.  Come on.”

As Lydia began to pull her away, Lizzie shot Darcy a look of regret.  He attempted to look understanding and supportive right up until Lydia glanced back at him, grinned, and said, “Don’t worry Darce-face.  I’ll return her when we’re done.”

At that, Darcy’s face turned red, Lizzie’s eyes widened, and she yanked Lydia forward.  They took off at a run.  Darcy watched them go and tried to decide if his feeling that progress had just been made was real or imagined.


	2. The Internet is Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2: Wherein Lizzie ignores her inner monologue, Darcy quotes Lizzie, Lizzie sasses Darcy, and Darcy has a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI-- this: ~~~~~ means that I am changing POV. (From Darcy to Lizzie or vice versa.) I hope that isn't super annoying. I couldn't help it.

Lizzie thought perhaps in a previous life she had been a roll of bubble wrap.  Even if that was impossible, it did not diminish her present sympathy for bubble wrap.  She had spent the past hour trying to shield Jane from the continual barbs of Caroline and Mrs. Lee.  Being only one person, Lizzie was an insufficient buffer even before Caroline had begun launching cutting comments directed at Lizzie and Lydia as well.  Lizzie felt stretched, torn, and punctured all at once.  Her attempts to keep things friendly between the two families had been unsuccessful on the whole.  Luckily, Jane and Bing were happy enough to be largely oblivious, and Lydia had wandered away from the group as soon as Mrs. Bennet stopped demanding additional family photos, so the necessity of running interference was now less crucial.  Besides—Mrs. Bennet had already achieved what was surely the pinnacle of awkward comments.  It was not possible for her to say anything worse than she already had.   If it _could_ get worse than, “So, loooovebirds!  How long do I have to wait for ginger-Asian grandbabies??” Lizzie did not want to know it. 

Devoutly hoping that her mother could not say anything worse, Lizzie headed back toward the house.  She was determined to see Darcy again for a moment at least—she was certain that the past hour of misery more than earned her the right to escape to whatever part of the house he was occupying.  At this thought, however, she stumbled a bit.  Discovering that she considered the prospect of seeing William Darcy to be a reward was quite unnerving.

 _Seriously?_ she asked herself.  _My reward for preventing Lydia from giving Caroline a black eye is to ditch the party and attempt another awkward conversation with Darcy?_

_Shut up.  It isn’t that weird.  I want—_

She slammed on the mental brakes before that thought could reach its inevitable conclusion. 

_Okay, Lizzie.  Don’t go there.  That can only lead to unhappiness.  Unless—_

_Shut. Up._

As she headed down the main hallway on the first floor, Lizzie firmly reined in her thoughts and attempted to tell herself that this was just about her need to thank him.  Looking into one vacant room after another, Lizzie’s body moved on auto-pilot as her mind cycled through the same painful mental stops and starts she had been dealing with for months.  When she looked into to the library and saw Darcy at the desk, her feet stopped automatically in the doorway but her mind took an additional five seconds to catch up.

His back was to her, and he was wearing those ridiculous over-ear noise-cancelling headphones that he was so fond of, so he was thus far unaware of her presence.  If she wanted to, she could probably walk right up behind him and put her hands in his hair before he even looked up from the laptop screen.

_Ugh.  Get a grip, Lizzie!  Wouldn’t you rather use his inattention to find out what he’s watching so that you can mock him for using his state-of-the-art headphones to listen to something that was probably just recorded on an iPhone?_

_No!_ came the rebellious reply.  Despite the protests of her increasingly ridiculous inner monologue, however, Lizzie was determined to keep herself under control and to act sensibly.  She would thank him and then try to move on.

Lizzie advanced a few steps toward the table before the images on Darcy’s screen turned her to stone.  Episode 89: Insomnia.  A split second after she froze behind him, Darcy hit the pause button and the image on the screen froze as well.  A long moment passed in which Lizzie stared at the back of his head and he stared at the screen.  She wanted desperately to exit the room and pretend she’d never been there, but there was a good possibility that today was her last chance to thank him, so she had to make this conversation happen.

She may have held her breath as she entered his field of vision, but she entered it nevertheless.  Upon registering her presence, Darcy startled, minimized the browser window, and removed the headphones.

“Lizzie!  I uh… hello,” he managed.

Panicking, she blurted out the first thought to come to mind.  “Of the all the hours of footage available, you pulled up the one episode where I didn’t bother to put on decent clothes?”  As soon as the words escaped she regretted them, and as discomfort and embarrassment clouded his face, she fervently wished she had kept her mouth shut.

After a beat he met her eyes again.  He studied her warily before replying, “If it makes you feel any better, this episode just happened to be the next one in the playlist.  I started at 77.”

“Right.”  Was there an appropriate reply for that?  She certainly could not think of one.  “Okay.  Well.  Yeah.  So.  You’re watching the videos.”

He watched her but offered no response.

“So… you… _why_?” she finally managed, “Why are you watching the videos?”

He looked at her with surprise.  “Should I not?  I’m sorry.  I didn’t realize…”

“No!” Lizzie nearly hollered.

“Okay.” He sounded sorry—penitent, even—which made her a bit crazy.  “I won’t watch any more, then.  I’m sorry—I didn’t know you felt that way,” he continued apologetically.

“No!” she repeated, this time with greater energy and frustration.  “NO, no!  I don’t… I’m not… Ugh.”  She took a deep breath and tried again.  “Of course you can watch the videos if you want to.  I don’t understand why you would want to, but it’s… that’s your decision.”  She felt emotionally overwrought already.  Why was she never able to handle a conversation with this man calmly?

“So if watching the videos is not a problem, “ Darcy began, watching her closely as if trying to decode a secret message, “What were you saying ‘no’ to?”  She was silent, and after a moment’s consideration he added, “It’s okay if you want me to keep my distance, you know.”

Lizzie briefly considered moving closer to the wall, the better to knock her head into it, but continued to stand by the table instead.  He watched her, unmoving and unspeaking, while she mentally worked her way back through their conversation, trying to figure out why she was acting… like herself… again.  She finally said, “I guess I was objecting to _your_ apologizing for watching the videos.  You never need to apologize for that.”  She held his gaze for a moment wanting him to believe her words, then continued, “For starters, I _told you_ that you should watch them—and while I was not making good decisions in general at that point, it is still true that I told you to watch my videos.  More importantly, however, those videos contain all kinds of things about you that I had no right to put on film, much less the internet.  So if anyone has the _right_ to watch them, it is you.  I don’t understand why you would _want_ to, but nevertheless, you are perfectly welcome to watch whatever videos you want whenever you want.”

In a tone of pleased surprise he replied, “Thank you, Lizzie.”

She stared at the table and muttered, “Until I get my degree and delete that YouTube account.”

Darcy raised one eyebrow and reminded her, “You said the internet is forever.”

“True, but that doesn’t mean I have to encourage people to watch those videos for ever.  In the grand scheme of things, very few people save YouTube videos, so I will at least be able to decrease their exposure after I defend my thesis.”

“Lizzie,” Darcy began carefully, “Your video diaries are very well done.  I don’t think you have anything to be ashamed of.” He hesitated a moment then concluded.  “I don’t think you should delete them at all.  But that is your decision of course.”

Lizzie was completely at a loss.  Was he serious? Kidding? Thinking again of what was best for her and ignoring what would be best for him?  She studied his face in consternation.

A twinkle appeared in Darcy’s eye and he added, “In any case, I have the entire series backed up to the Pemberley cloud, so I will continue to follow your advice that I watch ‘whatever I want whenever I want.’  Even the episode where you were in your pajamas.”

Lizzie’s mouth dropped open, her face got red, and she stared at him slightly horrified.

Darcy quirked a half-smile and reiterated, “The internet is forever, Lizzie Bennet.”

~~~~~

The ensuing silence was not a particularly comfortable one.  Darcy heard Lizzie exhale yet another deep breath—the third one she’d drawn in less than a minute.  She was at risk of hyperventilating if this went on much longer.  He took his own deep breath and managed to launch a few words with it. “I’m glad you came in,” Darcy told her.  “I think we need to… talk.”

Lizzie looked up and then away.  “Yes.  Yes we do.  If that is okay with you?”

“Yes,” he replied.  “Of course it is.”

She made no immediate reply, but seemed intent on the stone work surrounding the fireplace.  Was he supposed to start?  What should he say?  He waited, cleared his throat, inhaled deeply, came up with nothing, and remained silent.  They would both hyperventilate at this rate.

Lizzie watched him as he stood by a bookcase straightening the volumes on one shelf.  When she caught his eye he gave a barely visible shrug and turned away again.  Lizzie started, “Okay.  I, uhm…” she was now turned completely away from him, but since she was not actually speaking he supposed it made little difference.

He watched her trace the mortar around a stone and felt curious and expectant.

 “Darcy, I just… I wanted to say that—”

Lizzie turned to meet his eyes and faltered.  “You know, the thing is, I probably shouldn’t say anything,” she told him.  “I’m just going to make this worse.” With a grimace she continued, “But… I guess that never stopped me before?”

He was intrigued and curious, but she looked more uncomfortable with every world she spoke.  He felt like he should let her off the hook—despite having no idea what the hook was.  “Whatever it is, Lizzie, you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” he told her.  “Please don’t feel pressured to tell me something that you don’t want to.”

At that, Lizzie let go the stone work and turned to face him directly, wide eyed and completely sincere.  “Darcy.  This is not a case of me not wanting to say it.  It is a case of you not wanting to hear it.”

Taken aback, he grabbed the first logical rebuttal available.  “How do you know I don’t want to hear it?  I haven’t heard it yet.  I have no idea what we’re talking about.”

Lizzie looked away and shook her head.  “I have it on pretty good authority,” she mumbled sheepishly.

“Lizzie,” he said with some sternness, “Can you please say what you mean and let me decide how I feel about it?”

Running one hand over her eyes she replied, “Wouldn’t it be great if I could?  We’re back where we were two hours ago.”  She released a wry chuckle.  “It’s like we’ve become more Bing and Jane than Bing and Jane.”

At this somewhat astonishing pronouncement, Darcy abandoned the bookcase and went to Lizzie’s side.  “Every minute that passes, I have less understanding of what is going on.  Would you please help me interpret that last comment?”

Lizzie laughed ruefully, nodded once and gestured to the couch.  When they had seated themselves, she said, “Okay.  So. My father.  When Bing flew out to ask for permission to marry Jane—“

“He asked your father’s permission?  That’s… old school.”

“You wouldn’t do that?  You’re pretty old school yourself,” she replied.

Darcy stared at his hands wondering if she had any idea what she was doing to him with a comment like that.  No.  Probably no idea whatsoever.

“Anyway,” Lizzie continued, “I thought it was… nice.  Gentlemanly behavior—chivalry is not dead, you know.  Not that a ‘no’ from my parents would stop me.  But still.”  Darcy filed this information away for use in their non-existent future and gestured for her to continue.

“Right.  So after Bing left, my father told my mom and me that although he knew Bing and Jane would be very happy together he was a little worried that they’d never be able to make any decisions— because they are both so nice that they defer to each continuously — it creates a vicious circle of indecision.  And of course, he was a little bit right about that.  My mom chose the date for this engagement party.  Bing and Jane mostly just wanted a date that wouldn’t inconvenience anyone.”

Although he thought he knew now what Lizzie was getting at, he dared not make any assumptions in a situation where she’d suggested he and she were equivalent to the couple for whom an engagement party was underway outside.  “So, you and I are…?”

“We’re so careful now that we can’t have a functional conversation, can we?  Not because we don’t have things to say to one another.  Not because we’re indecisive—I think you and I are both inclined to over-decisiveness if anything.  And neither of us is inclined to believe everything and everyone is wonderful—not the way Jane and Bing believe it.”

Darcy couldn’t prevent himself from interjecting, “Even Jane and Bing don’t believe it the way they did a year ago.”

“True,” she said with a wistful smile.  But I think they’ll always be more inclined that way than you and I are.”

His mind zeroed in on her use of “you and I” as opposed to her previous use of “we,” and regretted the change.  Forcing himself to let it go and refocus on the actual thread of conversation, he said, “So we’re not really Jane and Bing, then.”

“No,” she replied with a soft smile.  “But to a casual observer it would seem that we’ve become so focused on being polite and not offending each other that we can’t communicate anymore.”  This conclusion clearly made her frustrated and dejected.

“Lizzie,” he said, “I don’t think that trying to correct my character flaws or trying not to hurt you like I did then can be considered a bad thing, and—“

“Darcy, I wasn’t—“ she tried to interrupt, but he shook his head and continued.

“—And we seem to be communicating right now.  So it is still possible.”  His sad smile was so slight and fleeting that she never would have noticed it if she hadn’t had plenty of practice analyzing his expressions on tape.  But she had plenty of practice.

“I’m sure we can be patient enough to hear each other out,” he added.  “Let’s say what we mean.”

Their eyes remained locked for a slow count of five before she lost ability to sustain the connection.  He waited.  She squirmed.  He waited.  She took a deep breath, did nothing with it, and he waited a bit more.  Finally she burst out, “I’m much better at analyzing our conversations than I am at having them.”

Darcy considered this for only a moment before a devious grin bloomed on his face.  He stood from the couch, held a hand out to help her to her feet, and said confidently, “Lizzie Bennet, I have a solution.  Follow me.”

~~~~~

When she realized they had just entered Darcy’s bedroom, Lizzie was slammed with a very brief but no-less intense moment of sheer panic.  As he disappeared into the walk-in closet he said, “It seems a bit odd that the solution wasn’t your suggestion, actually.”

Lizzie remained silent, and Darcy’s muffled voice continued, “It isn’t just that you’re a brilliant woman with a master’s degree in mass comm.  Let’s be honest.  You pretty much wrote the book on how and why this works.  Or you wrote the thesis on it, anyway.”

Realization began to dawn a few seconds before Darcy emerged from the closet and triumphantly approached her holding out a blue dress shirt.  “Okay, Ms. Bennet.  Time to prove the theory.”


	3. Not That Guy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3: Wherein costumes are donned but no reenactments are performed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI-- this: ~~~~~ means that I am changing POV. (From Darcy to Lizzie or vice versa.)

Lizzie stared as Darcy approached the mirror, loosened and then removed the tie he had been wearing, flipped up the collar of his shirt, and swiftly began tying a dark red bow tie.  Catching her eye in the mirror, he raised his eyebrows and said, “Costume please, Ms. Bennet.  We have an experiment to perform.”

Lizzie pulled Darcy’s shirt on over her sundress.  For a dress shirt, the fabric was ridiculously soft.  It felt like it must have a thread count of two million and be made from a fiber that existed only in dreams.  Also, it smelled good.  Really good.  It smelled like Darcy.  The smell reminded her of the moment when he had very nearly put his arm around her on that last terrible day at Pemberley Digital.  The day she had recovered then lost her hope for the future in the short space of five minutes. 

Folding the sleeves back so that her hands would be uncovered, Lizzie realized that it was not just a blue shirt—the fabric was actually a subtle plaid.  Of course.  It was made out of a cloud, smelled like lost dreams, and was a tartan plaid similar to her own much-abused costume theater shirt.  She hugged herself and looked to the mirror to discover that Darcy’s tie was already in place and he was watching her.  She shivered involuntarily.  Costume Theater could not solve everything.

When Lizzie caught him staring at her in the mirror her face flamed red and she tried to focus on the shirt.  She felt Darcy watching her as she fumbled with a button.  When the button failed to slide through the hole a second time he pointed out the obvious.  “You could just leave it.  You don’t usually button it.”

She met his eyes for only an instant before looking away again.  “No...  No, I guess I don’t.  But I also don’t usually wear your shirt.  I guess that threw me off.”

“Right.” Darcy cleared his throat and blinked several times.  “Right.  Okay.  Camera.”

Lizzie’s head jerked up in surprise as Darcy went to a neat stack of equipment cases in the corner near the closet.  “We do not have to record this,” she protested.  “I’m not making any more videos.”

Darcy turned and raised one quizzical brow and replied, “Of course we’re recording it.  That’s the whole point.  We need an audience to communicate efficiently.”  He handed her the collapsed tripod and headed back toward the corner.

“Darcy!” she protested. “There _isn’t_ an audience.  I am _not_ posting this.”

Turning back to face her, he studied her face for a long moment.  His own was serious—perhaps even concerned—she would have liked to study him right back, but felt certain that her face was betraying far more information than his ever would, so she chose to focus instead on not giving too much away.  Finally he blinked, narrowed his eyes a bit, and with an almost imperceptible smirk said, “Maybe I’m planning on posting it myself.”

Pulling the single chair away from the desk, he gestured and added, “Have a seat.  I’ll set up.”  Lizzie made an inarticulate noise, flounced to the chair, and seated herself.  Darcy raised the eyebrow again and held his hand out for the tripod she still clutched.  Lizzie wrinkled her nose, shook her head at him, and began opening it herself.  Darcy grabbed another piece of equipment and employed a placating tone as he said, “Lizzie.  I know you support Dr. Gardiner’s theories—so do I.  Surely you see that if there isn’t some outlet—if this conversation isn’t intended for an audience—the mediation theory no longer truly applies to it.”

“But—“ she tried to choke back the word as soon as it burst forth.  He was obviously correct.  His statement couldn’t be gainsaid, and she would only make herself look like an idiot if she tried.  Unfortunately for Lizzie, that was far from the point.  She was no longer interested in testing theories about communication.  She was now focused on more important issues. 

Darcy went back to work.  Of course he had a/v equipment with him.  He was, after all, in the video business.  Camera and a tripod were to be expected.  And a… softbox? And boom stand?

“Darcy!” Lizzie gasped, starting to her feet.  “What the—why? I mean, do you seriously travel with… all this? Always?”  Darcy almost smiled as he opened a reflective umbrella but he said nothing.  At this, a wave of shock hit her.  She turned her back on him—seeking emotional privacy in which to process her impossible panic-driven thoughts. “Oh.  Ohhh.  No…  You can’t.  I mean...  You wouldn’t, right?”

Darcy’s attention was drawn more by the change in her tone than by her disjointed words.  “Lizzie?”

“Did you _plan_ this? Is this?—tell me you didn’t plan this.  That’s not how you work.  I know it’s not.  You’re not that guy.”  Lizzie knew her voice was creeping into a higher register and she wasn’t making sense, but she also felt that her world had suddenly turned upside down.

“Lizzie,” he said gently, moving close behind her, putting one hand tentatively on her shoulder.  “What just happened?” and then with greater concern, “You’re trembling.  Here, sit down.”  He led her back to the chair and crouched in front of her.

She knew her eyes were wet, she knew she was shaking, and though she turned away so she wouldn’t have to look him in the eye, she did not have the wherewithal to actually stand up and walk out of the room.  “Lizzie?” he said again.  One hand reached toward her face and she flinched away before he could touch her.  He dropped the hand heavily onto his lap, lowered from crouching to kneeling, and waited.

~~~~~

After some difficult deep breaths she turned to face him again, a tear track still visible on one cheek.  He was appalled.  What had he done?  (Considering how quickly she’d gone from bantering to tears, did it even matter what he had done?  Probably not.) “I’m sorry,” he began.  “We don’t need to record anything.  I just thought it would help.  It was just a theory.” 

What else could he say? “I’m sorry, Lizzie,” he repeated.  Then again with greater sincerity, “Lizzie.  I’m sorry.”

“Why do you have a film studio with you in your guest room?” she demanded.

Uneasy, Darcy looked at his lap.  “I’m, uh, working on a project…”

Looking stricken, Lizzie asked an unsteady voice, “A project… where I get my comeuppance?”

“What?!”  He shouted the word and his face showed dawning horror as she continued.

“Is this about… did you plan to tape this conversation as… some way of… payback for all the times I made you look stupid on my videos?”  Now that she’d said it out loud, it made even less sense than it had in her mind.  “You aren’t that guy, right?  I mean… you wouldn’t do that,” Lizzie felt herself sliding into babbling, but couldn’t seem to stop.  “If you wanted payback you’d… sue me or … have a lawyer send a polite-but-stern C&D, or… just tell me to my face that I had to delete the videos…” her voice trailed away to almost a whisper as she realized that in light of their earlier discussion, the illogic of these ideas was obvious.

Darcy stared at her, poleaxed.  Why on earth would she think something like that? Did she really still think he was that kind of person?  He blinked a few times, looked up at her again, gazed around the room unseeing, and tried to understand how he had come to a place where this woman, of all women, might think something like that was possible.  It wasn’t as if he was George douchebag Wickham.

And then he knew.  And he understood.  There was no sense in taking offense—especially, he realized, when most of the things Lizzie had said were actually protests against the idea that William Darcy could act in such a way.  He took one of her hands from her lap, pressed it between both of his own, and cut to the chase.  “No, Lizzie.  I’m not that guy.”

She leaned toward him and peered into his eyes looking for truth in a way that made him feel incredibly vulnerable, but when her expression shifted and she began to smile through the remnants of her tears he realized the trade-off was more than worthwhile.  She took a fortifying breath.  “I’m sorry, Darcy.  I don’t know what I was thinking.  I just—“

“It’s okay,” he interrupted.

“—I’m nervous and overtired-- and emotional and confused, and-- you have a freaking film studio with you--”

“Lizzie, it’s okay.”

“Why did you bring a film studio with you?” she demanded, abruptly pulling her hand away from his.

He gave her a considering look.  “Do you want to be told even if it means keeping a secret from your practically-perfect older sister?”

Lizzie’s eyes lighted, a grin bloomed on her face, and she leaned toward him conspiratorially.  “Yes! Tell me everything! Especially if it is about my practically-perfect sister!”

Darcy explained his planned gift for Bing and Jane.  He planned to record each talking (gushing) about the other in separate interviews, intercut the interviews, add some important clips from Lizzie’s videos and some stills from the party, and finish it with a soundtrack of their favorite songs. 

Lizzie listened attentively, asked pertinent questions, made several useful suggestions, and begged for paper to start making notes.  This was the Lizzie he hadn’t seen since Pemberley-- not even in her subsequent videos.  This was the real Lizzie—excited, animated, planning, hopeful.  At this moment she was excited about something _William Darcy_ had suggested.  Lizzie wanted to help him.  It was obvious now that involving Lizzie in the project would make it far easier to stage interviews without making Jane and Bing aware that he had something special planned.  He pretended that was his only reason for requesting her help.  And then he pretended he believed it.

Most of the guests had dispersed from Netherfield by this time, and the video planning session was interrupted when Lizzie received a text from Lydia that made her disappear in a rush.  Before she dashed out, however, Lizzie promised to come back the following day to work on what she was calling “Project Jing.”  When she left, she was still wearing his shirt. 

It was a good day.

Tomorrow they might have another.


	4. Another day, another rollercoaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4: Wherein Darcy makes an offer, but not the one we're hoping for.

Lizzie arrived at Netherfield just before lunch.  Jane had apparently been expecting her.  Darcy had been expecting something, but he still wasn’t certain what.  The more he hoped the less he dared expect.  He tried to focus on the fact that Lizzie wanted to help with his wedding video for Bing and Jane, but knowing how close she was to Jane and how much she enjoyed making videos it seemed foolish to assign any additional motivations to her interest in his project. 

Gigi had disappeared and Fitz had already left for the airport, so lunch was just Jane, Bing, Darcy and Lizzie.  Bing and Jane were being… Bing and Jane.  They were sweet and kind and wonderful.  Darcy cared for them both, was happy for them, and found it torturous to endure their overflowing bliss.  He would have texted Fitz asking for a fake business call if Fitz hadn’t been on an airplane.

Darcy watched Lizzie and once or twice caught Lizzie watching him.  He was aware of nothing else that went on.  Thankfully it was unnecessary to respond to Jane and Bing since they only truly heard one another’s comments anyway.  Lizzie spoke to Bing and Jane, but not to him.  Although he was unaware of it at the time, Darcy spoke to no one.  His thoughts were almost entirely consumed with trying to figure out how he and Lizzie might have another conversation alone… and deliberating over what he should say when they did.

~~~~~

As lunch ended, Lizzie asked Bing if she could borrow a book she’d noticed in the library the previous day, and he, of course, agreed.  Lizzie knew Bing was unlikely to wander into the library without a very good reason—he was unfamiliar with nearly all of the books he owned.  The only person who ever spent time in the library was Darcy. 

Lizzie felt that she had plummeted from a cliff in the hour she’d been at Netherfield.  The nervousness and care that had gone into getting ready for the day, the butterflies when she rang the doorbell… an hour from now she would likely be ashamed to admit she had given in to those feelings of hope.  She had obviously read Darcy wrong the previous day—he had been somber and uncommunicative throughout lunch, looked away when she tried to catch his eye, and had not really even greeted her when she arrived. 

He probably regretted his friendliness of the previous day and, she reasoned, wished to make it clear that he was not interested in being more than a polite acquaintance.  With some chagrin she realized that was probably wise.  Things would be less awkward all around if they did not broach… certain subjects… again. 

As Lizzie cleared her untouched food from the table she desperately hoped that Darcy would guess her intentions and follow her to the library so she could give him the raw video files he had requested for Project Jing.  It would be mortifying to have to seek him out unasked.  Particularly if he thought she was pursuing him.  Based on today’s evidence he was clearly uninterested.

When Lizzie left the dining room Darcy remained seated, glowering at a pile of crumbs that had once been a roll.  He seemed unaware of her existence, much less her presence or her hope of seeing him in the library.  Lizzie thanked Bing for lunch, picked up her bag, and headed down the long hallway.  Uncertain of what else to do, Lizzie arrived at the library, grabbed a book, and seated herself on the couch. 

Flipping pages unseeing, Lizzie considered her options.  If not for Lydia, she supposed she could simply face the fact that she had missed her chance and go home.  At any rate, she could try to face the fact.  What Darcy had done for Lydia was too big and too much, however.  Lizzie had to at least attempt to thank him, regardless of Lydia’s assertions that he had been upset by thanks and had come “totally unglued” when Lydia asked him if she could tell her sisters what he’d done.  Lizzie checked the time on her phone and decided she would wait ten minutes and then go find him.

~~~~~

Darcy strode down the hall toward the library with a definite sense of purpose.  He was going to ask her.  She might not feel the way he did, but their ability to be friendly seemed to increase with time and proximity.  There was an obvious way to increase both, and he wasn’t going to ignore it anymore.  He would just ask her.  Not a big deal.

Entering the library, he grabbed the desk chair, moved it near the couch where Lizzie was seated, and straddled it.  Not stopping to give himself time to second guess, he folded his arms over the chairback, leaned toward her, and said, “Lizzie, why haven’t you applied for a position at Pemberley?”  Seeing her stunned face, he elaborated.  “Interns usually do, you know… unless they dislike the company.” He shot her a questioning glance.

Lizzie’s eyes were wide, her mouth open.  “I… you...  What?”  She blinked a few times, looked around the room, as if for help, then focused back on him and tried again.  “Darcy, no one could possibly dislike your company.  It’s amazing.”

One corner of his mouth curled upward, and his eyes softened.  “Do you mean that?”

She swallowed and repeated firmly, “No one could dislike your company.”

He nodded sharply but felt deflated rather than encouraged by the reassurance.  He waited in silence, hoping she would say more.

“I didn’t even finish my rotations!” she finally exclaimed.  “I left in the middle of a project.  Pemberley is a very competitive environment.  I couldn’t presume—”

“I explained that you had a family crisis,” he interrupted.

“You shouldn’t have had to,” she countered.  “I should have handled it.  Pemberley is fantastic, but that doesn’t mean I belong there.”

“Did you really like it?” he asked in an earnest voice, his eyes seeking hers.

“Are you crazy?  Your company is like a dream come true!  What’s not to like?”

Darcy considered this comment for a moment, studying her, and her face flushed.  “Thank you, Lizzie Bennet. That means a great deal to me.”

Regrouping, Darcy pushed forward.  “Dave was sure that you wanted to be part of his team.  He keeps asking me why you haven’t submitted an application.”  Lizzie’s face brightened at this communication, and Darcy felt a ray of hope.

~~~~~

“Darcy,” Lizzie began, incredulous, “Are you… offering me a job?”  This was definitely not something Lizzie had expected from today’s conversation with William Darcy.  His company was amazing—she loved it there—but she had assumed that their personal history made working at Pemberley an impossibility for her.

“Uh, no, not exactly,” he replied.  Lizzie willed her face to remain neutral while her stomach dropped from the zenith to the nadir of her emotional rollercoaster .  “Each division head has a good deal of autonomy,” Darcy continued.  “Dave wants to offer you a job.  In his division.”

“Oh.” Lizzie straightened her posture, swallowed, and said, “Dave does.  But you… don’t?”

Darcy sent a dissatisfied look at the carpet and said, “No.”  Lizzie stood, walked to the fireplace, and began tracing the stonework with one hand.  Darcy continued, “No, I had a different project in mind for you.”  Lizzie’s breath caught for a moment before he continued.  “I wasn’t thinking in terms of a standard employee situation.  I thought it might work best for all concerned to utilize your skills in a freelance capacity.”

Lizzie closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against one of the stones.  Freelance.  Was that code for “Let’s avoid seeing each other as much as possible”?  Probably.  Still, it was a job offer.  Two job offers, actually—both at a company that was fantastic.  Unfortunately it was also a company with a CEO to whom she seemed to have a debilitating emotional attachment. 

She would never survive if she had to see him being… himself… on a regular basis.  There was no possible way she could work on-site.  Freelance?  Maybe.  She turned to look at him and found him watching her.  Him and his stupid… face.  Turning back to the fireplace she took a couple of deep breaths and willed her stomach to not do any more flips.  When she felt she was back in control she looked back at him and said, “Darcy.  I…  thank you.  I don’t think I can do that.  But I appreciate the offer.  Very much.”

~~~~~

He closed his eyes, gripped his resolve, and forced himself to take the next step in his personal purgatory.  “Can I… could you tell me what sort of position you’re looking for?  Maybe Dave and I had the wrong impression about your preferred area of work.”  Seeing a look of panic in Lizzie’s eyes, he backpedalled a bit.  “I mean… if you feel that Pemberley is not a good fit, I’d like to at least help by recommending a few companies that might be a better match.”

After several seconds, she choked out “Thank you.  You’re… very kind.”

“If… if you’ll let me, I’d be glad to make a couple phone calls—“ he began.

At this, Lizzie turned swiftly to face him again.  “You must be joking.” He was certain only of the surprise in her voice.  Was she offended or simply taken aback?

“Lizzie,” he said, “You are very good at what you do.  I… I want to…” he paused and considered his wording carefully.  “I want you to have the opportunity to do the kind of work you’re capable of.  If you want to work for one of Pemberley’s competitors, that is your right.”

Her eyes became huge and a horrified look spread across her face.  “I hadn't even thought of it that way.  I definitely don’t want to be one of your competitors.”

“But you don’t want to work for us either?” he questioned gently.  Though he was studying her face, the series of emotions that flitted across it was far too swift and complex for him to interpret.

“I’d love to work at Pemberley,” she replied.  She looked worried and unhappy as she softly added, “I just don’t think it is a good idea.”

At this, Darcy was visibly upset, but managed to choke back all but one word.  “Why?”

Lizzie turned red and refused to meet his gaze.  Long moments passed.  “Lizzie,” he finally demanded, rising to his feet, “Do you think I can’t handle it?  I can.”

Her head whipped up, astonishment writ large on her face.  “ _You_ can handle it?” she repeated. 

“I will,” he ground out.  He straightened his spine, swallowed his pride, closed his eyes for a long moment, drew a shaky breath, and with all the sincerity as he knew how to express, said, “Lizzie, please don’t turn this down just to avoid me.”

~~~~~

She stared at him.  He stared back.  Her mouth was dry.  She felt light-headed.  Something inside warned her that if she didn’t look away soon she would do something they would both regret.  Probably.

She broke eye contact, marched forward, grabbed his hand, said, “Costume theater.  Now,” and pulled him forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for being patient! I've finished the 1st typed draft on ch.5 and have notebook-drafted all the way to the end now, but I swear these two are so SLOW to work through their issues. (Just grab each other and KISS already!)


	5. Costumes and Camera, Take 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5: Wherein Darcy sasses Lizzie... until he realizes he's in trouble

Lizzie strode quickly down one hall, up a staircase, then down a second hallway looking neither left nor right, not speaking.  For months she had wandered down a path of blindness on the subject of William Darcy.  At this moment, she was willfully choosing to be blind to everything _except_ William Darcy.  Or rather, given that she was currently unwilling to speak to or look at him, it might be more correct to say that she was choosing to be blind to everything other than the nearly overmastering combination of hope, fear and adrenaline for which she blamed William Darcy.

Lizzie knew she was being irrational.  She was overwhelmed and worn out and emotionally very near the end of her tether.  Her desperation to know what was in Darcy's mind was rivaled only by her terror at the possibility that miscommunication had misled her yet again.  Lizzie was perfectly aware that forcing him to have the ensuing conversation via costume theater was cowardly and more than a little ridiculous, but she did not think she could bear to attempt it without the dual shields of costume and camera.  She was not entirely confident that she would be able to ask him for answers even then.

Nearly at the door now, Lizzie slowed and then paused slightly.  Her mind began to recover from the tunnel vision brought on by adrenaline.  Darcy’s bedroom.  Even in her current state of mind she recognized that opening the door and walking in without him, or at any rate, ahead of him, would be completely out of line.

Darcy stepped past her, his face closed and unreadable, opened the door with one hand, and tugged Lizzie forward with the other.  Lizzie blanched and recoiled.  Had she been holding his hand this entire time?  Wide-eyed, she attempted to mentally review the last few minutes, but every thought that had followed Darcy’s last sentence was too slippery to hold.

~~~~~

Darcy glanced back as she jumped away from him.  He caught a glimpse of panic.  At that, his mask cracked and his confusion and concern became evident on his face.  He ignored the former to focus on the latter and tried to reassure her, “It’s okay, Lizzie.  Costume theater solves everything, right?”  He attempted a wan smile, but she looked away immediately.  Backing against the now-open door, he gestured for her to enter the room, but was careful not to touch her again.

Lizzie remained silent just outside the threshold.  She hadn’t spoken since they’d left the library, and he dreaded what was coming.  Whatever she had to say to him now, it couldn’t be said without costume theater.  Based on their history, that probably meant she was going to demand answers to some difficult questions.  He looked away from Lizzie to his filming set-up, tightened his jaw, and demanded honesty of himself.  He had fervently hoped to convince her that her taking a job at Pemberley would not have emotional consequences for him, but now he was forced to admit that she had never been likely to believe it. 

What could he possibly say?  With a pang, he forced himself to answer his own question:  only the truth.  Hopefully he would get a chance to emphasize the fact that she truly would be a good hire for the company, but Lizzie’s grip on his hand on the way up the stairs had not been that of a woman who intended to pull any punches.  If she asked, he would have to tell her how he felt.

He caught a flicker of motion and turned to watch as Lizzie took a few steps forward.  She crossed the threshold at last, then halted and took in the scene.

“You’re all set up,” she said with surprise.

He glanced back at the screen, surrounded by lighting and sound equipment.  “Yes.” He said flatly.  She remained silent.  He tried again, “After you left last night I… decided to be prepared.”

She smirked a bit at this, and he was relieved to see she was thawing from whatever emotion had overpowered her in the library.  “Just like a good boy scout,” she added.

Darcy felt himself flush to the tips of his ears.  Lizzie’s eyebrows rose.  “Oh.  Because you _are_ a boy scout,” she rightly concluded.  One corner of his lips tipped up as he looked away, reminding himself that if she was back to sassing him, that was a good thing.  Lizzie was decidedly more anxious and tightly wound than usual, and he was interested in anything that might diffuse some of the tension in the room.

She interrupted his thoughts as she added in a gentler voice, “Your perfection is frustrating for the rest of us.”

His head whipped toward her at this but before he even began to consider how best to reply she purposefully moved toward the makeshift studio and said, “Right.  Let’s… let’s do this.”

“Same costumes as yesterday?” he enquired gently.

“Yes.”  She turned to face him, looked him in the eyes and watching carefully said, “It’s time to be ourselves.”

At this cryptic and frightening pronouncement, Darcy turned and entered the closet.

~~~~~

After a few moments, Darcy exited the closet holding a shirt and bowtie.  He offered the shirt to Lizzie apologetically.  “It’s blue, but I’m afraid it isn’t as close a match as the one we used last night.”

Lizzie accepted the shirt and realized that he was watching her for a response.  After all the costume theater she had done of William Darcy, how could he possibly stand in front of her regretting that he didn’t have the perfect shirt available for it?  “This is fine.  Good,” she managed.

He nodded once and went to the mirror to put on the tie.  She realized with a start that he had changed shirts while in the closet because at lunch he hadn’t been wearing a button-down.  As he lapped one end of the tie over the other, she couldn’t stop herself from apologizing, “I’m sorry I couldn’t bring the other shirt back today.”

He halted and looked at her with some surprise.  “You… couldn’t?”  Lizzie looked away, sheepish.  “I’m not surprised or bothered that you didn’t bring it back,” he continued, “But ‘couldn’t’ isn’t the word choice I expected.”

She could tell that he had spoken mostly in jest, hoping to lighten the moment, but Lizzie was definitely uncomfortable about this line of questioning.  When she made no response, he pressed the issue, raising a teasing eyebrow.  “What happened?  Did you decide to burn it when you got home?”

Lizzie’s mouth fell open for a second and favored him with a look of offended dignity, then ruined it by snorting and smirking.  “No.  I did not burn your precious shirt.”

He raised both eyebrows at that.  “It’s just a shirt, Lizzie.”  She smiled a bit, but made no reply.  He added, “Still, if you stuffed it and burned me in effigy, I would like to know it.”

Now torn between amused and defensive, she exclaimed, “I would never burn that shirt!”

Darcy turned back to the mirror and with a tiny smirk of his own replied, “So, not that one, but I should keep an eye on the others, and you haven’t ruled out the possibility of burning me in effigy?”  She smiled and shook her head.  He caught her eyes in the mirror and smiled back.  The moment stretched dangerously.  She wrenched her eyes from the mirror to the shirt she still held on her lap, shook it out, and began to don it.  She wondered idly if communicating through a mirror might actually be more helpful than communicating via costume theater.

Moving from the mirror to the camera, Darcy turned it on and looked at the viewfinder to check the frame.  “Why ‘couldn’t’?” he persisted.

Lizzie looked at the camera, shrugged, and said, “It’s wrinkled now.  I’ll have to wash and iron it.”

Darcy looked up from the viewfinder with surprise.  “That is completely unnecessary.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Yes.  It is.”  He looked at her with consternation and added, “First, because you only wore it for a few minutes, and second, because I have a laundry service to do that.”

She met his gaze stubbornly and said, “It won’t kill me to iron one shirt, Darcy.”

He huffed and shook his head at her as he checked various pieces of equipment.  “I’m sure you’re very adept at ironing, but that is hardly the point.”  He paused and studied her a moment then added in a gentler tone, “Do you have to be so resistant to letting me take care of things?”

Lizzie started at this, stared at him with convincing disbelief for a long moment and finally replied with frustration, “Do you have to take care of everything yourself and pretend it isn’t a big deal?”

Taken aback by the hint of bitterness in her tone, Darcy looked at her with some confusion before he replied, “Lizzie, it _isn’t_.  I told you—I have a laundry service.”

“That is NOT what I’m talking about,” she retorted.

Lizzie watched his face as confusion, doubt, dismay and apprehension battled for supremacy.  Belatedly, she realized that this was definitely a moment that should have been recorded.  “Come sit down,” she instructed.  “We definitely have to talk about this.”

Darcy raised his eyes back to hers and gave a solemn nod.  She was unprepared for how nervous and uncomfortable he seemed, but he offered no argument or discussion.  He simply held her gaze for a long, long moment before swallowing hard, walking to her side, and taking his seat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you thinking, "Why are they STILL not KISSING?" Yeah, me too.  
> Are you thinking, "Why did this chapter end, and they haven't even TALKED yet?" Yeah, me too.  
> Did you notice that the chapter count suddenly went from "published 4/6" to "published 5/8"? Yeah, me too.  
> I'm sorry.
> 
> I seriously thought I would get the main portion of the big talk done in this chapter, but it got to be 9 pages in word, so I split it. This chapter is by far the smaller portion of that split-- hopefully the other portion will be posted 3/13/13 before I go to bed. The ensuing conversation is super heavy, so it is taking forEVER to polish. (And it is not cute or sassy or fun. It's straight angst. Hard on my feels.)
> 
> Thank you for your patience! and for your kind comments! I really appreciate it.


	6. The Blame Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 6: Wherein Lizzie and Darcy discuss the Lydia/Wickham situation and its accompanying misunderstandings

After Darcy seated himself, Lizzie turned and handed him the newsboy cap.  Five minutes earlier he would have protested that the hat was unnecessary, but now he accepted it and put it on without argument.  He looked at the camera for a moment, pulling his shoulders back and his chin up, and then turned to meet her eyes.

She began immediately.  “Lydia said—she said she heard—that you _bought_ that company.”  He continued to meet her gaze but made no reply.  “Darcy?” her voice broke a little and she searched his face.  A muscle in his jaw twitched, but he made no reply.  “You bought a porn company?”

He closed his eyes briefly at that.  Looking at the ceiling, then the floor, he began reciting the justifications he had prepared for others.  “Technically, it is a digital video production company.  Their equipment is for duplication and distribution.”  He hazarded a look at her.  She was looking at the camera now, unseeing.  “They weren’t creating content,” he added.

“And… you bought it,” Lizzie reiterated, meeting his eyes.

“Digital video production is—“

“Darcy!” she interrupted.  “Don’t!  Please.”

He ducked his head and rubbed a hand over his face for a moment, then dropped it and looked back at her.  “Lizzie, it was a solution.  I needed a solution.”  Her mouth opened, but no words were forthcoming.  After a couple seconds she closed it and he continued.  “Legal was going to be too slow.  You saw the countdown clock.  You know how long it takes to get through the court system.  It was impossible to stop him that way.”

“I know.” Her face fell and she looked away.  In a choked voice, she added, “My father tried to find a lawyer, but everyone told him that the only real possibility would be a lawsuit after the fact.”

“I run a media company, Lizzie,” he said, touching her shoulder briefly.  “We sometimes buy smaller companies or acquire businesses that are in trouble.  That isn’t a big deal.  It has happened before.”

Lizzie huffed in derision.  “Not like this.”

“I saw a possible solution and I was in a good position to make it work.  That’s all,” he concluded.

Facing him again, her eyes wet, she shook her head. “Why did you do it?”

Darcy shook his own head impatiently.  “You know perfectly well why.  And I had no choice.  I loosed that bastard on the world two years ago without a thought other than to get him away from Gigi.”  He glanced down at his fists, unclenched them, then forced himself to meet Lizzie’s gaze.  “I am so sorry.  It just… I never even thought about all the other baby sisters out there.”  He choked a bit on the words and hesitated for a moment before trying again.  “I made a bad call, Lizzie.  A selfish call.”

She met his gaze and he could see that she was struggling to breathe evenly, to hold herself together.  “So you bought a porn company,” she reiterated.

He shook his head slightly.  “Lizzie,” he said gently, “That isn’t the point.  Stopping this from the business end was a good solution.  Certain steps were necessary.  That’s all.  I knew I could incorporate a digital video production facility into the Pemberley framework, so the buyout was hardly an extreme step.”

Lizzie gave him a look of pointed incredulity, and raised her hands in an expression of disbelief, but did not interrupt. 

“I’m trying to make amends for my mistakes, Lizzie,” he concluded.  “I’m sorry I let this happen.”

Lizzie immediately pounced on the last phrase, “Darcy!” she exclaimed, “You did not let this happen.  This was not your fault!”

“It was my fault,” he responded forcibly.  “You knew that immediately, and so did I.  There is no point in pretending otherwise now.”

“What?”  Despite the hours Lizzie had spent trying to guess what Darcy’s motivations and justifications might be, she was completely unprepared for this response.  Was Darcy saying that Lizzie blamed _him_ for Lydia’s crisis?  How could that possibly make any sense? “Darcy, what are you talking about?” she demanded.

“Lizzie,” he began apologetically, “It’s okay.  You were right.  You were completely right.  When I found George with Gigi I paid him off instead of actually dealing with him, and that was both arrogant and stupid.”

Baffled by his reply, Lizzie watched in silence as Darcy spoke.  He was no longer attempting to make eye contact with her.  Chin tucked, eyes down, he clearly felt painfully guilty about this and was uncomfortable discussing it, but Lizzie could not grant him a reprieve.  Overwhelmed by confusion and curiosity, she could only try to absorb his words as he doggedly continued.

“I should have thought about how my actions would affect others—not just then, but later as well.”  He shifted uncomfortably and Lizzie saw his eyes flicker toward her for a moment, but he did not meet her eyes. 

“I know I asked you not to tell anyone about Gigi’s history with George when I wrote to you.  I just wanted to keep her from being hurt…” he trailed off for a moment, sounding defeated, then tried again.  “Obviously if you had been free to vlog about what I told you back in November—or even if you had just told your sisters—Lydia would never have fallen for that bastard.  None of this would have happened if I had just… done things differently.”

At this, Lizzie had to interrupt him—he was being nonsensical and blaming himself needlessly.  “That is not true.  You _were_ protecting your sister.  Of course I couldn’t talk about what happened to her—that would have been completely –“

“No,” he cut her off with a raised hand.  “I assumed I knew what she wanted and needed.  I thought keeping everything quiet was best—but in the end Gigi came to you and asked if she could film a video about what happened between them.”  He sighed.  “So clearly I was wrong in my assumptions.  Again.”

He bowed his head further and rubbed his temples.  Lizzie had never seen him so self-doubting.  She swallowed hard and shook her head in disbelief.   “Darcy, no.  It doesn’t work that way.  Your actions aren’t at fault.  And you certainly didn’t make Lydia fall for Wickham.  He had his own agency—she had her own agency—“

He didn’t let her finish the thought.  “Don’t think I didn’t see what happened between you and Lydia, Lizzie.  I insulted her when I spoke to you at Collins and Collins and that insult drove a wedge between the two of you.”  Lizzie shook her head in frustration, but he was oblivious to it.  “That argument you had with her after her birthday, when she was so hurt and upset?  That wasn’t really about the book.  You know it wasn’t.”

Lizzie drew back slightly and her mouth opened just a bit as she realized how thoroughly familiar Darcy must be with her videos.  He continued, “You used the word _energetic_ and she thought you were rejecting her.”  He took a breath and then concluded in a hollow tone, “Lydia thought you were rejecting her because of me.  She pushed you out of her life because of that.  She isolated herself, and that is the reason George was able to manipulate her.”

Lizzie couldn’t decide whether to cry or yell at him.  Shakily, she said, “Darcy.  Listen to me.  You aren’t to blame for everyone else’s actions.”

“You know as well as I do that she would never have started seeing him if she hadn’t been so angry with you,” he retorted stubbornly.

“Okay,” she said, striving to stay calm, “That is likely true, but my relationship with Lydia is my responsibility.  Not yours.”  He made no response.  She tried again.  “Darcy, _I_ fought with Lydia.  You didn’t.”

He glanced at her for the briefest of moments before looking away again.  Lizzie felt her anger begin to kindle.  Why was he being stubborn and ridiculous?  Dredging through the circumstances that led Lydia to be manipulated by George Wickham was only going to make them both feel terrible. 

More forcefully than she had intended, she burst out, “Darcy, none of that was your fault."  He started and met her eyes.  The expression on his face told her that he disagreed.

“Lizzie,” he replied carefully, “That last day at Pemberley… do you remember?  I told you it wasn’t your fault, and you asked me whose fault it was.”  She nodded slightly, remembering the painful conversation.  “I knew then,” Darcy concluded.  “I knew that I was more at fault than anyone, excepting George.”

Lizzie began to shake her head again then suddenly froze, appalled, as the pieces fell into place.  “You thought I blamed you.”  It was not quite a question, not quite a statement.  She watched him for confirmation.  He shifted uncomfortably.  “You thought… Darcy, why would you think that?  I did _not_ blame you.”

He met her eyes squarely now.  “Whether you blamed me or not, I had a responsibility to fix it.”

“Darcy, you are an idiot,” Lizzie huffed.  He drew back a bit and met her eyes with trepidation.  She struggled to continue, “That’s… you are… this is completely ridiculous.”  She noticed the muscle in his jaw twitching again, but he said nothing.  They were both silent for several long moments as she considered things in a new light and tried to determine how to go forward.

“If you thought I blamed you—which I certainly did _not_ —“ she reiterated, “Why didn’t you tell me that you were the one who saved us?” she demanded.  “I don’t understand.  I mean, you tried to prevent me from finding out that you were the one who stopped him.  How does that make any sense?”  She studied his face trying to understand.  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was trying to make things right, Lizzie,” he responded.  “I wasn’t trying to… I didn’t want you to know because I didn’t want you to feel indebted.”

Gaping at him, Lizzie countered, “But we _are_ indebted.  Enormously.  Not knowing to whom we owed our thanks didn’t change that.  I was grateful before I found out it was you, and I still am.  I’ll always be indebted to you for what you did.”

“No,” Darcy gritted out, “You are not in my debt.  Don’t even suggest that.”  He seemed almost angry at the mere suggestion of gratitude.  Lizzie was taken aback by his fierce response.  Trying to prevent her mind from dwelling on his likely reasons for disdaining her thanks, she looked away.  Her gaze landed on the camera, and remembering it, she straightened her posture and tried to appear calm.

She felt more than heard Darcy breathe deeply, but not wanting to face him, she maintained her focus on the camera.  In a gentler tone, Darcy said, “Please don’t thank me, Lizzie.  Something happened to your family and it hurt you.  I knew I had resources that you did not, and… I wanted to prevent you from being unhappy.  That’s the bottom line.  Let’s leave it at that.”

Lizzie sucked in a breath and turned toward him.  “You wanted to prevent me from being unhappy?  That’s your explanation?”  She spoke with a hint of frustration, but as the words left her mouth her mind began to untangle his statement.  Halting, she considered his words more closely before trying again.  “Are you saying… you’re saying you did it because you want me to be happy?”  She was unable to prevent a slight catch in her voice.  

He averted his eyes and made no reply.  If she had not spent time studying his reactions over the past few months, she probably would have missed the slight affirmative head movement that was his only response.

“If you wanted to make me happy, why didn’t you just tell me what you’d done?” she queried.

“You didn’t need to know that I was involved,” Darcy replied shortly.  “You just needed to know it was over.  I didn’t want you to feel that I was interfering in your life.”

Rising swiftly to her feet, Lizzie loomed over him (as much as possible, given their relative sizes), gesticulated wildly, and yelled in his face.  “William Darcy, what is wrong with you?!  You bought my plane ticket; you had all my things packed and shipped home to me; you left Pemberley for weeks to hunt Wickham; you arranged to buy the company that owned the rights to Lydia’s tape; but you didn’t want me to feel like you were interfering in my life??”

Darcy resisted the impulse to lean away, tucked one corner of his lips, and replied in a carefully mild tone, “I thought it might upset you.”

Lizzie stared at him uncomprehending for several seconds and then closed her eyes briefly, exhaled heavily and reseated herself.  She ran her hands through her hair a couple of times, rubbed her palms on her thighs, and faced him again, attempting to be reasonable.

“You thought it might upset me.  Okay…” she considered a moment before continuing, “I don’t get it.  How could I be anything other than grateful?  You didn’t want me to know because you couldn’t stand the thought of me thanking you?”

Darcy raised an eyebrow at this.  “Are you thanking me?  Because… you seem… kind of upset.”

Lizzie’s lips pressed into a firm line as she glared at him.  “I am upset.  I’m upset that you wanted to avoid my _gratitude_ so much that you couldn’t bring yourself to tell me what you’d done.”  She knew she was handling things badly—being sarcastic about gratitude was definitely a bad sign—but she continued nonetheless.  “You thought I blamed you, but you were so determined to avoid any _thanks_ from me that you weren’t willing to tell me that you fixed everything.” 

Lizzie could feel herself sliding toward dangerous territory, but was too tired and frustrated to stop.  “What is so awful about the thought of me being grateful to you, Darcy?  You did something for my family that no one else could.  You saved my baby sister.  Why can’t I thank you for that?”  She choked on last few words and was obliged to pause a moment to regain some control. After a brief silence she finished wistfully, “Weren’t we friends, Darcy? I thought we had become friends while I was at Pemberley.”

~~~~~

Stunned by both her words and the hurt in her voice, Darcy stared at her a moment before stumbling through a reply.  “I… we—we were—we are.  I am… honored to be considered your friend, Lizzie.”

Her glance flicked away and dejectedly she asked, “Then why didn’t you call me?  You sent me home and… that was it.  I didn’t hear from you again.  I mean… I had to find out from Lydia and my YouTube subscribers that you were the one I owed my thanks to.”

They were going in circles and Lizzie was becoming more upset, not less so.  He tried again to explain, “I didn’t want you to feel obligated—“

“No.”  She seemed angry as she interrupted him.  “That isn’t an answer.  You thought you needed to keep this from me?  That is ridiculous.  Why keep it from _me_?” 

She began speaking rapid-fire, her frustration evident.  “I thought part of the reason you were so anxious to get me away from Pemberley that day was to keep Lydia’s situation from affecting Gigi.  Trying to shield your sister from the fallout of my family crisis would have made some sense, at least.” 

 “Lizzie—“ Darcy attempted to interject, but the look she gave him closed his mouth. 

She continued to vent her frustration, her agitation increasing, “Shielding your sister clearly wasn’t your goal, though—I’ve seen the Domino demos—Gigi knew what you were doing long before I did.  The entire internet knew before I did!” she ended bitterly.

Pained by the hurt and frustration evident in her face and voice, Darcy did not reply immediately.  What could he say?  Before he could decide, Lizzie spoke again, her voice and her agitation significantly diminished. 

“You could have texted or emailed if you didn’t want to call,” she said quietly.

With a wrinkle in his brow, Darcy responded, “I don’t think either of those would be a very successful way to communicate about something like this.”  Tugging the newsie cap down a bit to make his point, he added, “Obviously it is hard enough to have the conversation in person, don’t you think?”

Lizzie stared at him for a slow eternity, clearly trying to settle some inner conflict.  He watched and waited, unsure what to hope for.  Finally she said, “We could have talked about something else.”

“Like what?”  He looked at her, perplexed.  “Lizzie, how would it have helped to talk about something else?”

“Because that’s what friends do,” she said pointedly.  “Friends communicate.  They discuss things.  They stay in touch.  They talk.”

As the realization began to dawn that Lizzie was no longer talking about the Lydia/Wickham crisis and his handling of it, one part of Darcy’s mind began to relax while simultaneously another part went into overdrive.  Lizzie Bennet was referring to the two of them as friends.  Granted, she was criticizing him, but that seemed a fairly insignificant detail in the overall scheme of things.

 “You wanted me to call you?” he asked.

“Friends do, sometimes,” she replied with a tiny shrug.

Darcy considered a moment then replied, “I didn’t want to presume.  I mean… I hadn’t been in the habit of calling you while you were at Pemberley.”

“No, but we talked.  When I was at Pemberley we saw each other in person.  Every day we saw each other in the break room, or at lunch or in a meeting.”  She was speaking to the camera now, but Darcy didn’t mind, since it made it easier for him to watch her unnoticed.  “Even on days when you were in board meetings all day long we ran into each other in the hall or elevator.”

At this, Darcy’s face flushed a bit, and he was again grateful that she was looking at the camera.  Hopefully she had no idea how much he had looked forward to those moments and how he had plotted and hoped whenever their schedules made a coincidental run-in unlikely.

Lizzie continued, “We didn’t always get the chance to talk about anything, but… at least we managed to say hello every day.  Then this happened with Lydia and… we suddenly went from seeing each other every day to complete radio silence,” she finished dispiritedly.

She glanced at him for only a moment before looking away, but he read enough in that glance.  She missed him.  She genuinely missed seeing him and talking to him on a regular basis.  Lizzie Bennet considered him a friend.  And she had missed him.

It would be impossible to explain how much he had missed her, and he wouldn’t upset her by attempting it.  “Lizzie, I am so sorry I didn’t call.  I didn’t know… I didn’t realize you might… want to hear from me,” he finished lamely.

“Darcy,” Lizzie said earnestly, “We were talking every day before I left.  We were…” she stumbled for words, “We were making plans to… spend time together.  But after Charlotte called, you practically pushed me out of the office and onto the first flight home, and I was isolated from that point forward.  I didn’t hear from you or from Gigi.  Would it have killed you to send an email?”

There was hurt and disappointment in her gaze.  She blinked once, twice, and the hurt in her eyes became muted, less raw.  Staring into her eyes, Darcy’s mind struggled to assimilate new ideas.  It was as if he had watched her bank an emotional fire.  Lizzie was genuinely hurt by what she perceived as a lack of friendship on his part.  Not only was she hurt, but apparently she didn’t want him to know how much.

“Lizzie,” he began carefully, “I’m sorry.  I wasn’t trying to push you out of the office—I just wanted to get you home to your sisters as quickly as possible—I was trying to help.”  She nodded her understanding, but her aura of dejection seemed to deepen. He tried to explain again, “I didn’t call because I thought you blamed me for what happened to Lydia.”  Before she had a chance to rebut this he put a hand on her arm and clarified, “I know you already told me you don’t blame me—and I appreciate that—but at the time, I thought you did.  I thought you were angry with me.  I thought that leaving you alone would make things easier for you.”

He waited for her to meet his eyes before continuing, “I am sorry if I hurt your feelings.  I do want to be your friend, Lizzie Bennet.  You can always talk to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted this at 3am when I had to be up for work at 6, so if you notice significantly more errors than in other chapters, that is probably why. Also because this chapter was really difficult to write, relative to the others.
> 
> 1) I know... this isn't fun or full of squee. But I sincerely feel like they had to have this conversation.  
> 2) I'm not a real writer! This is the first time I've posted a fic. I'm just making my best effort, okay?  
> 3) Is it messed up that I am sort of giddy with glee over the fact that I used the phrase "complete radio silence" and then when ep96 posted today, Lizzie said, "radio silent" in it?? Because seriously? That was an awesome moment for me.


	7. Thanks and Apologies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 7: Wherein Lizzie manages to say thank you, then apologizes for being horrible; Darcy swears she never was.

Lizzie sat with head bowed, staring at her folded hands, wondering how she had managed to land in this place where everything around her conspired to show her how foolish she was.  Outwardly, she remained very still.  Internally, however, she was far from calm.  She had just goaded William Darcy into saying he was her friend.  She had also made him feel guilty—yet again—for something that was, as usual, not his fault.  She could feel him watching her, probably trying to guess how else he might be of service.

It was a lesson she had resisted, but Fitz had been correct.  William Darcy really did look out for those he cared about.  Despite everything that had passed between them and all Lizzie had done to destroy his earlier regard for her, he still wanted her to be happy.  He was one of the best men she’d ever known, so despite his changed his heart, he continued to do whatever was in his power to look out for her.  The realization made her intensely miserable.

She sensed his hesitant intention several seconds before he actually spoke.  “So… is that… it?”

He asked the question in a voice she didn’t quite recognize, and Lizzie glanced up at him as he removed the newsie cap.  He looked at it for a moment regretfully before adding, “Are you… that is, you said you… wanted to speak with me… but I didn’t call.  Do you not have anything else to say to me now?” 

Lizzie stared at him stupidly.  She couldn’t erase the needy words she had spoken.  She had driven him to declare himself her friend and she had no idea how she should proceed now.  She certainly couldn’t say all the things she was thinking—that would be a disaster and an embarrassment for both of them.  Darcy held the newsie cap out toward her and she reached blindly to accept it.  Her fingers brushed his for a fraction of a second, and every part of her demanded that she try again.

“I want… I wanted you to call because I wanted to talk to you,” she managed.  “I still want to talk to you.  I do have things to say.”  Gripping the newsie cap with excessive force, she closed her eyes briefly.  “I’m sorry.  I’m just…” she trailed off. 

Surely someone who had studied communications should have less abysmal communication skills.  After a brief pause she said simply, “I’m sorry.  Could we… talk a bit longer?”

Darcy seemed a bit relieved, perhaps even pleased, as he responded, “Of course, Lizzie.  Please, don’t be sorry.  We can talk for as long as you want.”  He paused for a moment and then added, “I’m sorry I made you think I didn’t want to hear from you before.  I just thought it would be easier for you if I left you alone.”

“It would’ve been easier if I’d had someone to talk to,” she said dispiritedly.   She regretted the words immediately.  Why had she said that out loud?  Could she be any more pathetic?

“I wish I had known.”  He sounded sincere and contrite, but how else could he possibly respond if she insisted on being so pitiful?   When she didn’t reply, he continued, “It never occurred to me—could you not talk to Jane?  Or Charlotte?”

Lizzie turned her face away, feeling more pathetic by the minute.  “Charlotte was pretty busy with work… _Game of Gourds_ and all that.” Darcy stifled a chuckle.  “And of course I talked to Jane… but… she was as miserable as I was.  She lost her job because she decided to come home… it would have been insensitive to vent my frustrations to her all the time when she had so many of her own.”

Darcy nodded slightly.  “I see.  You wanted an outside perspective.  You wanted to talk to someone uninvolved—a sounding board.”

Although she appreciated his attempt to understand, in her mind Lizzie was far from agreeing with his assessment.  _No, you idiot.  I wanted to talk to you.  Because I wanted to talk to YOU._   Aloud, she managed to say, “Yeah.  I guess.”

“Well, if you ever find yourself in that situation again, I hope you’ll tell me,” he said gently.

Lizzie sighed, faced with yet more proof that if she wanted to hear from him in the future, she would need to seek him out.  He would be friendly and polite… but nothing more. 

William Darcy as a polite acquaintance was not something she could deal with.  She had been right to turn down his job offer.  She rubbed both hands over her face and tried to refocus.  Her wretchedness was in danger of overwhelming her, and she needed to thank him and apologize so that she could escape and allow herself to fall apart.

Lizzie risked a glance at Darcy.  He was watching her with obvious concern.  Catching her eye, he spoke gently, “Lizzie, maybe we should take a break.  Could I get you some tea?”

For just an instant, a hint of a smile emerged unbidden, then she swallowed and her face closed.  “No.  Thank you.  I’m being ridiculous.  I’ve just got to do this.”  His gaze was nervous and questioning.  Tipping her head back she met his eyes squarely and said, “I need to say things.  To you.”

Darcy’s worry became more evident, and she launched into speech to counteract it.  “Thank you.  For what you did for Lydia.  Thank you from all of us.  I can’t tell you how much—“  she was looking into his eyes, determined that he should realize how sincere she was and how much she meant her words.  Because of that, she saw in his face that he was going to interrupt her.  She quickly leaned toward him and put a hand over his mouth.  His shock at this was evident, but Lizzie made herself ignore the million details her subconscious mind insisted on collecting and used the moment of surprise to fix him with an imploring look and say, “Please.  Please let me say what I need to.”

Unblinking, he met her gaze for a long moment during which the determination in his eyes retreated and was replaced by regret.  He swallowed hard, and with a look of apology, Lizzie removed her hand and leaned away.  Looking to the camera, then down to her lap, she began to speak rapidly.  “Thank you for saving Lydia, Darcy.  I don’t know everything you did, but I know that we must owe you more than we could ever repay.”

He shifted next to her and she glanced up to see a mutinous look in his eyes.  She continued hastily, “I’m not really talking about money now—you know that, don’t you?  You put in so much work and worry and… having to deal with _him_ again…”

As she trailed off miserably, he interjected “Lizzie!  Don’t.  Please don’t.”

She shook her head and went to the heart of her regrets, “I’m so sorry, Darcy.  I’ve caused problem after problem through my idiotic assumptions.  Why did I believe _him_?  Why didn’t I just ask _you_ for the truth in the first place?”

“Lizzie!  Stop it.”  He put a hand on her shoulder and turned her slightly to face him.  “Don’t.  None of this was your fault, Lizzie.  I _never_ thought that.  Lydia doesn’t think that.  Why are you doing this to yourself?”

She looked at him dully for a moment before registering everything he’d said, then suddenly drew back and said, “Wait, Lydia doesn’t?  You talked to Lydia about that?”

Darcy shrugged noncommittally and muttered, “Stranger things have happened.”

Lizzie sighed and said, “Lydia told me you felt responsible, but I didn’t really understand until today.  I know that the guilt you felt—that whole, ‘Then whose fault is it?’ thing—I know that guilt was a result of my handling things badly.  I want you to know that I never, _never_ blamed you.  For any of this.” 

She looked at him pleadingly.  “I was such an idiot.  About… everything.  And I’m sorry.  For everything.”

“Please stop apologizing,” Darcy said quietly.  “I understand that you want to apologize—I wanted to as well.  But if, when I insisted on apologizing before, you felt anything like I do now… well, I want you to know I’m sorry I insisted on it.”

“It’s not the same,” Lizzie countered stubbornly. 

“It is exactly the same,” Darcy protested.  “If you think I am not responsible for what happened, you are _definitely_ not responsible.”

Lizzie glared at him for a moment, then shook her head.  “Fine, then.  Let’s say we could take Wickham out of the equation.  Pretend none of that ever happened.”    She rubbed the back of her neck wearily and glanced up at him with trepidation.  “I still need to apologize to you.”

His forehead wrinkled and he watched her with bewilderment.  “Darcy,” she began nervously, “When we saw each other at Collins and Collins--” she darted a glance at him.  His jaw clenched and he closed his eyes.  She plunged in, wanting to say it and be done.  “I was completely out of line.  I am so sorry for the things I said to you.  I was cruel and horrible, and I want you to know I am sorry.  Truly sorry.  I know it is too late to take it back, but I wanted to apologize for treating you that way.  For hurting you.  I’m sorry, Darcy.”

The muscle in his jaw was working, but otherwise he remained still.  Lizzie watched him in misery, knowing that it was too little too late, but hoping that he would believe the sincerity of her apology at least.  As the silence stretched she looked down at her hands and felt tears pricking her eyes. 

All things considered, this was an appropriate time for her to exit.  She had given her thanks and apologies.  Lizzie closed her eyes, drew a shaky breath, then opened her eyes and stood.  Darcy’s eyes snapped open the instant she moved from her chair.  He looked at her, questioning.

“That’s… that’s what I needed to say, I guess,” Lizzie attempted to smile and failed.  Tears were now imminent, and she knew she needed to flee quickly if she hoped to keep them private.

Darcy stood.  “You’re not going?” he asked with a touch of desperation in his voice.  Lizzie nodded, then blinked several times, trying to hold herself together.  “Lizzie,” he pleaded, “Don’t go.  Not like this. Please.”

She knew perfectly well that she couldn’t leave if he wanted her to stay, but that did little to subdue her emotions.  Tears started running down her face almost immediately.  Giving up the possibility that she might keep some dignity intact, she attempted a smile and nod and returned to her seat.  Darcy produced a handkerchief and dabbed at her cheeks softly until she took it from him and resolutely tried to stem the flow of tears herself.

When she had mopped herself up as well as could be hoped, she glanced up at him.  He looked horrified.  “Lizzie,” he said softly, “Stop blaming yourself.”  His eyes sought hers, and his distress was more than evident.  “You were right at Halloween.  Don’t regret what you said.  I was out of line, and you called me on it.  You said I’d never given you any reason to think I cared for you, and it was true.”

Lizzie’s tears began anew.  “I was completely wrong, Darcy.”

“No, you weren’t,” he replied.  “I have regretted nearly every word that came out of mouth that day, and with good reason.  But you certainly shouldn’t.  Most of what you said was spot on.”  Lizzie shook her head, but Darcy continued earnestly.  “It was good for me, Lizzie.  It was painful, but necessary.  I thank you for helping me.  I have tried to improve on my shortcomings since then, and I have you to thank for motivating me to be a better man.”

Lizzie sniffed and replied, “You cannot be serious.  I was horrible to you, and everything I said was unfounded.”

“Not all of it,” he said wryly.  “And you weren’t horrible.”  He smiled at her, and she couldn’t help but think how ridiculous it was for him to be so forgiving.

Lizzie huffed in frustration.  “I don’t think you remember the same conversation I do.  I had to rewatch it more than once last month as I was finishing my thesis and it nearly killed me.  I was more than horrible to you.”  Suddenly she recognized the ridiculousness of her situation.  She was busy trying to convince him that she had behaved badly simply so that he would accept her apology for behaving badly.

Darcy had a slight smirk on his face, having already recognized this, but he was kind enough to not point it out.  He simply replied, “Lizzie?  You were _right_ , not horrible.”

“William Darcy!” she huffed in frustration, “Did you not hear any of the words that came out of my mouth?”

“Elizabeth.  Bennet.” he retorted.  “Have you forgotten the appalling words that came out of mine?”

Lizzie managed a slight smile.  “It wasn’t that bad.”

Darcy raised an eyebrow at her and the tiny smirk he’d been trying to suppress took over his entire face.  Without breaking eye contact, he pulled one end of his tie and the bow came undone.  “Take off the shirt, Lizzie,” he said imperiously as he pulled the tie from around his neck. “I need to borrow it for a few minutes.”  Lizzie stared for an instant, then was galvanized by the spark she felt as he pressed the bow tie into her hand.  Before she had a chance to shrug the shirt off Darcy began to gently tug it off her shoulders as if it were a coat.

“Is this really necessary?” she asked.

Darcy gave her a full-blown grin—the first she’d ever seen on his face.  “No.  It isn’t remotely necessary, and it is probably a terrible idea.  But let’s do it anyway.  I think you and I can both agree that costume theater is far more fun when playing other people.  It is also more fun when reenacting rather than trying to have a conversation the first time.”

Lizzie could not argue with that.  She smiled back at him, put the newsie cap on her head and watched Darcy don the blue shirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good grief.  
> So now I'm FINALLY (!!!!) working on the chapter that contains the scene for which I began writing this fic in the first place.


	8. Costumes and Camera, Third time is the charm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 8: Wherein two fools in love say what they mean at last

Despite the fact that he was risking a reenactment of one of the worst days of his life, Darcy felt surprisingly confident.  He knew from their experiences at Pemberley that this type of costume theater could bring down the barriers between them.  Additionally, she had stayed when he asked her to, and he knew Lizzie Bennet to be a woman who would never do anything she truly didn’t wish to.  It gave him an almost overpowering sense of hope—however false that hope might be.

As Darcy pulled the shirt on he watched Lizzie.  She was clearly nervous, but also clearly amused—she was watching him and struggling to keep a straight face.  “Hey.  Keep in mind that this is actually one of _my_ shirts, Lizzie,” he pointed out.  “You have no cause to find it amusing that I’ve decided to wear it for a few minutes.”

She raised an eyebrow and snickered, “I’m not saying it’s _girly_ , Darcy.  I’m just enjoying your fashion sense.  Somehow I always thought you were kind of particular about your clothing.”

Unsure of what she was getting at, he gave her a snooty look that, a year ago, would have made her furious, and asked “What’s your point, Bennet?”

To his great delight, she laughed at him as he had intended, rather than taking offense.  “In general _William_ , I guess I have become a fan of your personal style,” she said, her eyes twinkling, “But I never would have guessed that wearing one dress shirt over another was part of it.”

Darcy looked down, swore, and began pulling the blue shirt off.  Lizzie laughed.  He stood and began unbuttoning the other shirt as he walked to the closet.

“It made a statement!” Lizzie called after him gleefully.

He paused in the doorway, raised an eyebrow at her and said, “One button-down over another?  What’s the statement?  Stuffed shirt?”  Lizzie burst into another round of giggles, and as he entered the closet and removed the shirt, he was so pleased with himself for making her laugh again that he couldn’t even regret looking like a fool.

Darcy quickly grabbed a charcoal vee-neck and pulled it over his head as doubts started to crowd back into his mind.  What had possessed him to suggest they reenact episode 60?  He could certainly prove to Lizzie that she had not been at fault that day, but she would be reminded of all the awful things he had said to her, and if she was playing his part, he would have no chance to fix his mistakes.

Exiting the closet, Darcy said, “Lizzie, maybe we should play ourselves.”

A flicker of confusion graced her face and she considered it for a moment.  “Let’s try this first,” she decided, offering the blue shirt to him again. “We can trade back if we need to.”

A rock settled in his stomach and he nodded, shrugged into the shirt, and reseated himself beside her.

Lizzie turned to face him, her expression a curious mix of amusement and nervousness, and began, “I need to speak with you.”

Unsurprised by his own nervousness, Darcy dutifully delivered the next line, “This really isn’t a good time.”

She leaned forward and put her hand on his shoulder.  “Are you all right?” she asked gently.

He started at Lizzie’s touch, then studied her face.  There was still a touch of humor in her eyes, but it was fading rapidly.  The look of concern on her face seemed genuine, and her hand had moved from his shoulder to his back.  He had to break eye contact to have any hope of delivering his line, despite the fact that what he was saying was true—“I’m not all right, actually.”  He swallowed hard and waited, but instead of continuing, Lizzie spread her fingers against his back and rubbed lightly until he met her eyes again.

“Please,” she said, “Let me explain.”

With more sincerity than he would have thought possible, Darcy burst out, “This is the worst possible time you could be doing this!”

~~~~~

Seeing the near panic in Darcy’s face, Lizzie dropped her hand instantly and looked away.  What was she doing?

“Lizzie?” Darcy asked, trying to catch her eye.

“Sorry.  Stay in character,” she told him, still looking away. 

As she began her next line, however, she knew she was representing herself more than she was reenacting the past.  “I’m sorry, but… the last few months have been crazy.”  She forced herself to meet his eyes as she realized how true the words were.  “I’ve been hiding something from you… that I shouldn’t have… and I can’t anymore.”

Their eyes were locked, and Lizzie thought she might actually faint.  She took a couple of breaths, moistened her lips, and willed herself to finish the line.  As she began it, Darcy closed his eyes and turned his face away.  “I need to admit something to you.  Please...”

Still not meeting her gaze, Darcy replied, “Well this should be… interesting.”

Trying to shake free from the charged atmosphere that had gathered between them, Lizzie did her best imitation of Darcy’s tone of surprise, “You’re filming!”

At this, he finally looked back at her and said, “I’m always filming!” with a slight smile.  Wryly he continued, “If you’ve got something to say to me, you’ll have to say it on camera.”

Lizzie blushed, cleared her throat, and began, “I didn’t come here... for a job.” Darcy’s sat back and studied her carefully.  It was too late to say the original line even if she wanted to—and she wasn’t sure she did—so Lizzie continued doggedly, “I came here to see you.”

For several seconds he just stared at her.  Finally he blinked a couple times and said “Really?”

Unsure of whether they were still doing the scene or not, Lizzie decided to push forward.  “Two parts of me have been at war,” she began.  Darcy’s eyes flicked away and the tension that had coiled round him seemed to depart.  She realized that she had been making him uncomfortable.  She should focus on the original meaning of the conversation. 

Picking up the scene, Lizzie couldn’t bring herself to use Darcy's original words. “We come from such different backgrounds… my family is so much more reserved than yours, and our financial situations are so dissimilar.”

“Lizzie!” Darcy interrupted.  “You know perfectly well that that is not what I said.”

“It’s close enough,” she replied.

“Stick to the script, Bennet,” he scolded.

“We aren’t using scripts, _William_ ,” she retorted with a smile, wondering if he had already forgotten how silly it would be to convince her of his horribleness just so that he could apologize for it.

He allowed himself a smile before responding, “No, we’re not using scripts, but you were there and I believe it has been established that _you forget nothing_.”

Lizzie chuckled a bit before answering seriously, “Darcy… isn’t the point of this to show each other how we remember it now?”

With a sad smile he said, “Yes, Lizzie.  But be honest.”  He held her gaze for a long moment and she had to grab her chair to stop herself from moving closer.  “I didn’t say my family was reserved, Lizzie.  Besides, you’ve met Gigi, so you know that isn’t true.”

Lizzie felt her face reddening.  “Right.  Okay… I was just trying to express it in a different way,” she defended.

“By which you mean you were trying to reword my thoughts so they wouldn’t be so appallingly ill-mannered,” Darcy replied.  “And I appreciate that.  But we both know I insulted your mother and your sister.  I’m sorry for that.  I was wrong.”

~~~~~

Lizzie didn’t reply, and Darcy felt compelled to explain.  “Lizzie, I was wrong about Lydia just like I was wrong about everything else.  Wickham wasn’t Lydia’s fault.”  Lizzie appeared ready to protest and he gently put a single finger over her lips.  “And don’t even suggest it was yours.”  She narrowed her eyes at him and he allowed himself a tiny smirk before lifting the finger and touching it to the tip of her nose briefly before dropping his hand.

“I’m sorry for what I said about Lydia at Halloween, Lizzie.  Lydia is a good sister, just like Gigi is a good sister.”  He held her gaze for a long moment before continuing.  “I’m not thrilled that she insists on calling me Darce-face or that she sends me at least half-a-dozen harassing texts every day—“

“What!?” Lizzie yelped.

“—But she’s more restrained in her harassment than Gigi is,” he continued, “and I know she just does it because she cares.”

“WHAT?!” Lizzie repeated, this time with greater force.  “Did you just say that… Lydia cares about you?”

With a smirk, Darcy replied, “Yes.  She does care about me, in her way.  And it’s… nice.”

“What?!”

Darcy allowed himself a bit of a chuckle before saying, “Turnabout is fair play, Bennet.  You care about my sister, don’t you?”

Shooting him an annoyed look, Lizzie replied, “Of course I do, _William_.  You know I love Gigi.  That’s not weird.”

Enjoying the situation now, Darcy said, “Then it shouldn’t be weird for me to… look out for Lydia.  Lizzie, you care about my sister.  I can care about yours.  It’s okay.”

Lizzie’s face reflected shock, disbelief, and a thousand questions.  Darcy gave her a gentle smile, leaned forward and squeezed her hand.  “Just decide to be okay with it, Lizzie.  It’s too late to change it.”

In a choked voice, Lizzie said, “Okay.  Let’s… let’s move on.  Uh… where should we start?”

“Where I said I loved you,” Darcy answered.  Lizzie looked at him, wide eyed, and he rephrased, “I mean, where you said you loved me.”  Lizzie’s face became even more flushed, and he tried a third time, “Uhm.  The part where the guy in the bowtie and newsie hat said he loved the girl in the plaid shirt.”

~~~~~

Lizzie had closed her eyes at this point and missed his sudden scrutiny.  “Wait.  Where’s the bowtie, Lizzie?” he asked.  Her eyes flickered open and sheepishly she raised the hand in which she was clutching his bowtie.  It was both wilted and wrinkled from her grasp.

“Sorry,” she mumbled.  “I… uh.  Yeah.”

“Lizzie Bennet!” Darcy exclaimed in mock tones of disapproval.  “This will need to be pressed and starched all over again.  That is not how we treat our ties in the Darcy household.”  He suddenly stopped and became very red-faced.

With a bit of confusion, Lizzie responded, “Well, William Darcy, we’re actually in Bing Lee’s house, not yours, so… can I be forgiven for perpetrating a crime against bowties?”

“Sorry.” Darcy replied.  He was red to the tips of his ears.  “I was channeling my father just then.  Or Gigi.  Both, I guess.”

Relieved that he wasn’t actually getting upset about a tie, she smiled and asked, “Does Gigi make a habit of scolding you for mistreating your neckwear, then?  Somehow I wouldn’t have pictured her that way.”

To her surprise, Darcy burst out in full-fledged laughter.  “You have no idea!” he exclaimed.  She has probably scolded me for mistreating neckwear hundreds of times.”

Lizzie didn’t quite know how to respond to this, but it definitely seemed to amuse Darcy for some reason.  She had rarely seen him look so at ease.

When he noted her confusion, he tried to explain.  “My father said it first.  Once when I was young he reproved me for leaving my room a mess, and I told him that it didn’t matter if I left my tie on the floor—it wasn’t going anywhere and I could always hang it up later.  He told me that if our housekeeper found it on the floor she would almost certainly take the time to launder it, starch it and press it again.  He wanted to make it clear that my careless habits were affecting others.  It was lesson he was determined to teach.”  He glanced at Lizzie and she nodded her encouragement, hoping to hear more.

“A few days later I left books and papers all over the study when I left for practice, and when I got home everything had been stacked neatly on the desk in my bedroom with a note propped on top.  It said, ‘I did not want to leave your disorder in the study for Mrs. R. to launder, starch, and press.  This is not how we treat ties in the Darcy household.’”  Darcy swallowed and smiled ruefully at the memory.

“I’m not sure how many iterations it took for me to truly understand him,” he continued.  “The line about the tie became a sort of shorthand for him in his attempts to show me how strongly he valued and respected the time and efforts of his employees.  It made a big difference in my life.”  He sighed reminiscently and continued, “I told Gigi the story when she was thirteen.  We’ve been lecturing each other about hanging up our ties ever since.”

Lizzie’s eyes were shining when she smiled up at him.  “I’m sorry I wrinkled your tie.”

Darcy gave her a soft smile.  “Don’t be.  My comment was just a reflex.  And I gave you the tie to wear, not to hang up.”

“Right,” Lizzie replied.  “Uh, I don’t actually know how to tie it—the one I use isn’t the kind you tie—so I thought I’d just hold it.

~~~~~

He was glad to have an excuse to extend the moment.  Darcy shook his head at her, eyes merry.  “I’m going to channel my father a bit more, then.  I’ll help you out this time, but you need to learn to do this for yourself, _William_.”

“Yes, sir.”  She smiled at him in a sassy way that made him forget his purpose for a moment.  The tie.  Right.  He pulled it from her fingers, smoothed it, and grabbing it by its ends, flipped its length over her head, trapping her hair against her neck.

He hesitated a split second, suddenly realizing that he was in dangerous territory, then took refuge again in humor.  “ _William_ ,” he said with a stern look, “I cannot support this new hairstyle you’ve chosen.  It seems to get in the way of your neckwear.”

Lizzie grinned at him then forced her face into stoic lines and responded, “My apologies, Sir.  I don’t know what I was thinking.”  She tugged her hair loose from the bowtie, gave it a few rapid twists and secured it within the newsie cap.

Darcy stared, his hands still holding the ends of the tie in front of her.  Lizzie smirked and said, “I do hope you’ll continue the lesson now that I’ve taken care of my hairstyle.”

He blinked and tried to pull himself together.  Tie the tie.  And think about something else.  What had they been discussing?  “I’m sorry I didn’t learn the lesson properly,” he said. She scrunched her face in confusion at his comment as he crossed one end of the tie over the other.  He took care not to pull it too tight, since the tie was lying against Lizzie’s bare neck rather than a shirt collar. 

He forced himself to elaborate on his previous comment as he lapped one side of the tie over itself.  “The lesson my father was trying to teach me… somehow I never understood that he was talking about more than people you work with or people who work for you.  The lesson applied to everything, and I missed it.”  He looped the long end over and began to pull it through, glad for an excuse not to look at her when she was so close and his fingers were grazing the soft skin of her neck.  “I’m sorry for the way I treated you last summer—and again in October.”

Tightening and evening out the knot, he concluded, “But I am certain my father appreciates the fact that you helped me grasp the lesson at last.”  He dropped his hands back to his sides and looked Lizzie in the eyes again.  “I have definitely been more aware of the feelings of others since… Halloween.  I hope I’m less arrogant and selfish now than I was when we first knew one another.”

Lizzie was smiling, but had tears in her eyes again.  He waited for her to interpret her reaction for him.  “I don’t think you’re really very different,” she said softly.  Just as Darcy feared misery was going to crash down on him again, Lizzie grabbed him by his shoulders and said, “No—not that.  I mean... I simply misjudged you—like I misjudged everything else.”

“No.  You didn’t,” he said fiercely.  “I have learned a lot since then.  Because of you.”

Lizzie smiled but shook her head, and returned her hands to her lap.  “You were always a far better man than I gave you credit for, William Darcy.  I’m sorry I misjudged you the way I did.”

Something in her voice prevented him from protesting again.  Instead he asked simply, “Misjudged me in what way?”

“In every way.”

He knew he should leave it alone, but he could practically see the words “The last man on earth I could ever fall in love with” hanging in the air, and he couldn’t prevent himself from asking.  He also couldn’t make himself say it casually, as if it didn’t matter anymore.  “Lizzie.”  He touched the back of one of her hands.  “Does that mean I’m… the second to last?”  At her look of horror, he immediately wished he could take back the question, but that would be impossible.

“Darcy,” Lizzie gasped.  “Please don’t.  Don’t even suggest that.”  He was relieved at least that she wasn’t going to pretend not to know to what he was referring.  Lizzie continued, “I know I was cruel.  And stupid.  And wrong.  But,” she looked at him pleadingly and he realized her chin was trembling, “we barely knew each other back then.”  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before continuing, “How was I supposed to know I could love you like this?”

~~~~~

It was as if her words had turned Darcy to stone.  He stared at her but did not move or attempt to speak.  She thought he might not even be breathing any more.  After a brief pause, Lizzie began to speak again, dispirited, “I guess you know me better now as well, so it’s understandable that you don’t feel the way you did then.”  She ducked her head and began to turn away.

Darcy put both his hands on her shoulders and gently turned her back to face him.  With a smile of reassurance, he tipped her chin up with one hand while winding the other to the back of her neck.  Lizzie’s lips parted as she drew a surprised breath, and then his lips claimed hers, gentle but insistent.  She responded immediately, and his fingers wound into her hair as her hands crept up his chest.  His mouth slanted across hers more possessively, deepening the kiss.  She moaned softly in the back of her throat as he pulled her closer, then he slowed his assault long enough to pull her onto his lap.  He dropped fiery kisses along her jawline to her ear where he stopped long enough to say, “You’re right, Lizzie.  I don’t feel the way I did back then.  How was I supposed to know I could love you like this?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously? did I just change the chapter count to 9?  
> Yeahhh. There's some stuff I want to tie up in epilogue.  
> (But if it makes you feel better, that stuff is pure fluff.)
> 
> Another reminder that no one has been beta-ing this for me and this is the first fic I've ever put online, so I appreciate you being nice! :) You guys have really encouraged me-- I don't think there is any way I would have kept working on this beast without your support!!  
> Thank you!


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